


Famous Last Words

by theinvalidedsoldier



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon-typical swearing, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mentions of Child Molestation, Peter is 21, Tom Holland is my Peter Parker, Wade Being Wade, but just a tad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvalidedsoldier/pseuds/theinvalidedsoldier
Summary: “No, you get the fuck back here. My last memory of you will not be you talking about your Mexican food fetish!”





	Famous Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> Just a side note, I’m incredibly sleep deprived. It’s a wonder I mustered the motivation to write anything this y-e-a-r, anyways, this was just something ridiculous that came to my head. 
> 
> Enjoy!

  A relationship with Wade Wilson, the ridiculous _Merc with a Mouth_  was always going to be a challenge. Make no mistake, Peter Parker was not an unintelligent boy, he knew full well what he was getting into. Down to the most explicit details. Wade - and though he would agrue that the description of him was complimentary - was arrogant, reckless, impulsive, the epitome of a havoc-wrecker to the max. He didn’t have a filter, which is something Wade brandished all too proudly. These characteristics subsequently landed both Spider-Man and Deadpool in hot (boiling, fucking boiling) water with none too friendly crime lords and violent gang leaders.

  _But,_ Wade was compassionate if not anything else. He didn’t kill for fun - often - and his motives generally speaking, were pretty legit. “To rid the world of cockgobbling scum-fuckers.” Was actually his more vulgar choice of words, but if that didn’t scream compassion, Peter didn’t really know what did. Underneath the intimidating exterior of a strong-built maniac with an affinity for violence, was an unapologetic manchild whom really did enjoy Mexican food as much as he claimed to. Wade was attentive and caring, he wasn’t nearly as selfish as his repetitive self-deprecating jokes seemed to portray. Though Peter had only been in three steady relationships in his short but eventful life, he could wholeheartedly concur that Wade had by far been the most caring. He knew how to cheer Peter up when he had had a rough day, he knew exactly what song to play, food to buy, movie to pop in. It was almost too perfect, almost scary how well Wade knew him.

  Peter most importantly knew that, putting Wade’s many pros aside; to an outsider in their line of work, Wade’s big mouth served as a huge problem. Though the amount of blood on Deadpool’s hands had depleted drastically since the start of their relationship; on more than one occasion an innocent fist-fight brawl would turn into a guns out and loaded killing extravaganza. It was an often occurrence that Peter would watch Wade leave the house in his Deadpool getup, and fear that it was the day he somehow gets thwarted for good. The logical part of his mind would remind him that Wade could in fact not die, ever, matter of fact. But death was renowned for being as unexpected as it was unforgiving, so a little bit of worrying was in order from Peter’s part.

  Hence they had a ritualistic goodbye at the door, whenever one of them went on a solo mission. They came to the mutual agreement that they would kiss each other goodbye - the period of time of said smooch was ‘Wade’s choice’ - and ensure that each other’s last words to each other were always, _“I love you.”_  It made up for each and every time that Peter had wished he had said it to his uncle Ben before his untimely demise, each and every single proper goodbye wasted on a trivial, “See ya.”

  Neither of them were allowed to utter a single word after said meaningful goodbye, as it completely ruined the sentiment. Nonetheless, Wade agreed to do it simply to appease Peter. He didn’t find it likely that someone would come up with a cure to his groundbreaking immortality, just to kill him, but then again it wouldn’t have surprised Wade. If Ajax, ‘ _the bald dish-soap motherfucker_ ’, couldn’t find one for him, then Wade seriously doubted that anyone else would. But it seemed to turn into something of a ritual for Wade too, it was something he had started to live by. Any and all of their conversations on the phone ended with those three words being whispered in earnest. It was comforting. Sometimes Wade neglected to abide by the rules, uttering something foul or meaningless instead of the words he was supposed to say. But he nearly always went out of his way to not deviate from the fixed script, as whenever he did; Peter would verbally harass him for at least a solid week. That being said, it was just a little bit fun to wind Petey up just a smidge.

-

  Peter rubbed smut out of his eyes with the heel of his hands gingerly, the morning rays shining in through the window. He turned around to an empty bedside, the indent still warm from a broad body. He sat up, the sheets still tangled around his limbs from a night of sinful delight. It was; none too poetically, a good fuck. Cold feet padded across the wooden floor into Peter’s kitchen, the sight he came across was one to bring a Cheshire Cat grin across his face. Wade was in his underwear, with an apron that read, ‘World’s Best Wife’ draped over his chest. The aroma of pancakes and coffee carried the room to the magical land of couple domesticity. The sizzle of the pan and his off-tune whistling to what sounded suspiciously like Sweet Home Alabama greeted him. Peter honestly couldn’t have asked for a better way to wake up, honestly.

  “Mornin’,” Peter said. He shuffled over to the counter, leaning on his hands as he shot a lewd smirk in Wade’s direction. He smiled as he watched Wade’s head shoot up in surprise. For a mercenary with nerves of steel, and reflexes that would marvel even those of an actual cat, it really wasn’t that hard to scare Wade. Maybe it was a faux act of innocence, maybe you just needed to put him near a plate of pancakes. Either way, it was undeniably adorable. Though you wouldn’t expect a man of his general caliber or demeanor to resemble anything even remotely comparable to ‘adorable’.

  “Awh, morning babycakes.” Wade slid an array of pancakes onto two plates. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early, you sure you can sit after last night?” Even though Wade definitely didn’t have the most defined - any - eyebrows, they would’ve practically reached his forehead at the rate he was suggestively wiggling them. Peter scoffed. He grabbed a stack of them, and they both flopped unceremoniously onto the couch. It wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, surely. But Peter would be damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy the post-fuck pancakes that Wade always seemed to make after an _eventful_ night.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Peter mumbled, his voice muffled by a hefty mouthful of pancakes. Though he would attempt to let it go unseen, sitting down definitely wasn’t as easy as a task as Peter thought it would be. The sliver of pain that shot up through his backside like lightning upon sitting down could testify to that. Wade didn’t look entirely convinced, “Hmm. Whatever you say baby boy, I was certain that I had completely wrecked that sweet ass of y-“ Peter smothered him with a pillow remorselessly. It was always going to be this, Peter hoped anyways. The two of them, a hero and a mercenary, or an anti-hero maybe. Yes, a hero and an anti-hero. How truly fitting. Peter hoped that nothing would change in their life that they had created together. It was a bit fucked up really, but the two of them seemed to fit together so perfectly, that neither of them gave a damn.  
  
  They chewed in unison, well Peter chewed, Wade practically inhaled the pancakes. He was noticeably more fidgety than usual, bouncing around in the seat, knees positively jittering with anticipation. “You got anything to do today?” Peter asked, already knowing the answer. Wade only got this excited when he had a job. Excluding the time that Peter brought home a bucket of KFC, but that was a special occasion. Peter had asked him to stop the mercenary work, but after an incident with a group of thugs and one stubborn stripper, Peter agreed that Wade could take occasional jobs.

  “Oh you bet your sweet cheeks I fucking do.” Wade scoffed down his final mouthful in what was barely a second. His eyes lit up with only slightly disturbing excitement as he delved into the predicament, “Three words, priest child molester. Ohohoho did he fuck with the wrong family with that one,” Wade grumbled.  
  
  “If there is one thing I can’t stand in this world Petey-pie, it’s bastards that hurt children. I’m being paid a fortune for this shit, _and_ I get to castrate a pedo. It’s like it’s fucking Hanukkah!” If he was being completely honest, Peter had heard him say things that were infinitely worse. He rolled his eyes, “Right, yeah. Brilliant.” He cleared his plates in the sink, contemplating if Wade would be home for seven, there was a Star Wars marathon on. It was pretty shocking that this is what his life had come to, fighting crime by night, waiting for his assassin boyfriend to come home from his pre-meditated murder by day. He had fuck all to do as Spidey, Mr. Stark had put him on a ‘time-out’ when Peter came into work practically dying with the flu. _“You need to take care of yourself, kid.”_ He had said. It was the only time that Peter could remember where Wade wholeheartedly agreed with something Tony Stark had said. How inconvenient.

  “Are you gonna be gone long? There’s a re-run on later.” Peter inquired innocently, Wade gasped. “Who’s the morally divisive one now? Tut, tut, tut, scandalous. Imagine, asking me to hurry up with murder. You’ve changed Spidey, you’ve changed.” Wade was suiting up in his spandex, pulling on his boots with a level of enthusiasm that resembled a kid getting ice-cream. It was still cute.

  “Beside, this’ll take a while. Boy, am I going to take my time with this fucker. Amen.” His katanas slid into their sheaths with ease, the satisfying ring of the two dangerous weapons echoing throughout. A strange sound left Peter’s throat, it was always fun to see Wade worked up, fun most definitely being meant as a double entendre. It definitely opened Peter’s eyes as to how truly fucked up he was, his fifteen year old self would’ve been screaming out about the moral injustices. Nonetheless, Wade as Deadpool, and Deadpool as Wade was irrefutably the most attractive thing he had ever witnessed. He donned the black and red mask with pure frivolous delight, his head tilting as he took in the flustered Peter before him. A wry chuckle escaped through his mask.

  “Well someone is certainly a happy chappy in their panties, hmm?” Peter ran a hand through his hair, Deadpool’s forthrightness was always something that left him slightly stunned. Nothing seemed to get past him, and no tension hung in the air while he was around, everything was announced into the open. Irregardless of how awkward. “Shut up,” He grunted, only half-fond. Wade fumbled for his prized desert eagle, and slid it into the front holster. Each and every single time he told the story of how he acquired such a proclaimed, ‘beaut’, the plot seemed to change. First he had gotten it from a time-traveling cowboy, then an overzealous elderly woman with a knack for antiques. Peter suspected that Wade stole it from someone, that’s usually how that went down. A few more treacherous guns were loaded, and he was about to set off.

  “Baby, do I wish I could stay and help your teensy little issue,” His fingers were spread apart marginally, what he was insinuating didn’t go over Peter’s head. He was average, thank you very much. Maybe even above average, to someone who couldn’t measure, that is. “Hey!” Peter swatted him, vastly unamused. But Wade was already halfway across the room. “But I gotta grade A pervert to catch, ooh Mama.”

  The floorboards creaked as he jumped in delight, it truly was a terrifying sight. Peter laughed. He was too sleepy to pretend that a middle aged man gallivanting around their tiny kitchen with a Hello Kitty backpack wasn’t in fact hilarious. “Please be careful, at least a little bit. I don’t want you coming home with half of your shoulder missing again. The floor can’t take that.” He turned away with a mumble, but it didn’t go unheard, “Nor me.” 

  Wade knew that Peter had a problem with goodbyes. When his uncle died, it had positively fucked him over. Paranoia, trust issues, inability to create attatchments, and an unwillingness to let them go. It was heartbreaking to see his baby boy upset, it truly ripped his heart out. A man, who really was a little boy at heart, with his doe eyes and tattered heart. A man who made Wade the best version of himself than he could possibly imagine. A residing piece of him that he didn’t know was left, after losing Vanessa and becoming the embodiment of a literal fucking walking scrotum. He brought out a happiness in Wade that made the boxes go quiet, as they were in awe too, at the most perfect human being to ever come into his life. 

  “Hey, come here,” He beckoned him over. Peter was trying to not make a big deal out of it, he always did that, always made it seem less of what it was. “I’ll be back as soon as possible, okay? And I’ll bring Taco Bell home with me. We can watch whatever bullshit you want, on the ceiling if you want to. Okay?” Peter nodded. Wade was almost out the door, he lingered, “Man I could really go for that right now. I must get guac for you to lick out of my bellybutton some day. It’s negotiable.” And with that, he was flaunting out the door, already out on the street as Peter opened up the window.

  “No, you get the fuck back here. My last memory of you will not be you talking about your Mexican food fetish!” He hollered; maybe he could live with a few off-putting goodbyes every once and a while, maybe they were healthy. Wade’s chuckle could be heard down the laneway, already getting lost in the sounds of a busy New York City. 

  “I love you!” But Jesus would Peter never get sick of hearing it.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being quite a bit longer than I intended it to be. I also wrote chunks of it when I was exhausted, and shit tends to get very convoluted when I’m tired. Let me know if anything is unclear, constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
